Learn more about other poetry terms
Atop the mountain lies an end,Past this hill, around the bend,A fruitful glade, a home yet found,Yes just beyond our living mound.
My feet are starting to hurt. Why the hell did I do this? God, I think my heart is going to explode.
A whispering breeze rolls through a quiet neighbourhood. A chord giggles from the rooftops of a busy downtown. All is gone... All is vacant... With nothing but a Blank canvas left to paint.
Your name was actually